


Sufficiently Advanced Interrogation Techniques

by GlassRain



Category: Leif & Thorn (Webcomic)
Genre: Alien Biology, Aliens Made Them Do It, Alternate Universe - Space, Awkward Sex, Consent Issues, Consentacles (eventually), Crack Treated Seriously, Imprisonment, M/M, Rescue, Stockholm Syndrome, Tentacle Sex, Xeno, whatever you call reverse knotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/pseuds/GlassRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This comic has a <a href="http://leifandthorn.com/comic/leif-thorn-in-space-2/">canon In Space! AU</a>. I am weak for canon space AUs.</p><p>Thorn, knight-pilot of the Federation, is captured by a Sønheim Empire warship and accused of spying. Leif is assigned to interrogate him . . . sexually. This would be more threatening if Leif knew literally anything about human biology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for complicated xeno consent issues. There's a happy ending but first things are ugly for a while, in a cracktastic sort of way.

The brig had plain steel-grey walls, a grey powered-down holoscreen next to the door, and plain bars of light running along the ceiling that cast dour grey shadows under Thorn's feet. One of the Sønheim Empire aliens held a phaser on him until the door closed. Now there wasn't even golden hair or a scarlet-trimmed uniform to break up the grey-on-grey.

At least the vibro-cuffs powered down. The individual cuffs were still clamped around his wrists like the world's ugliest bracelets, but once they weren't actually tethered together, he could stretch properly.

"I would like to repeat for the record," said Thorn out loud -- he couldn't see any recording devices, but if the security team was doing its job they would be in here somewhere -- "that I was not deliberately trespassing in Sønheic space, have no intention of trying to harm the Empire, and have called dibs on the rights of prisoners under the Xenevå Treaty, no take-backs."

He gave the entire cell a once-over. Just in case there was a forgotten lock-pick in the sink, or a conveniently human-sized heating duct grate under the bed.

When nothing turned up, he stretched out on the gray mattress and closed his eyes. Classic knightly survival trick, even older than space travel: when you have a moment of peace, you catnap, because you never know when you'll next get the chance.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

He slept lightly, and snapped awake as soon as the vibro-cuffs came back on, yanking his wrists together just before the door slid open. The tether, little more than a decimeter long, crackled with energy.

The visitor was one of the guards who had brought Thorn in, accompanied by an alien he hadn't seen before. The guard escorted the new alien in, holding her phaser on Thorn all the while. "Here's the spy. You know what to do."

She backed out, leaving Thorn with the stranger.

"Hi," said Thorn, trying to sound pleasant while he sized the alien up. Pale peachy skin; violet hair that curled back from his neck; perky black antennae standing out from his scalp. Same dark cyber-glasses as the guards, but a different uniform, cream-colored instead of black. "I'm, uh, not a spy."

"This would be a lot easier if you just confessed up-front," warned the alien.

"There's nothing to confess!"

"Well then," said the alien crisply, taking off the glasses. They snapped shut and attached to a hookup on his sleeve, leaving ruby red eyes to look down at Thorn. "If you don't cooperate, I'm authorized to start breaking your will by inflicting unwanted sexual stimulation on you."

What?

Thorn kept his face impassive, mostly because he was too bewildered to be scared. That didn't _happen_. Sure, you heard rumors, but mostly from your speciesist uncle. Actual sexual assault of a prisoner was a relic from the dark ages, the kind of thing only seen today in cheesy Network porn . . . 

"So . . . how do I do that?"

Thorn did a double-take. "Sorry?"

The alien, absurdly enough, looked embarrassed. "Command didn't brief me on the specifics of your biology. Which means I'm supposed to know, which means I might get in trouble if I ask. Could you maybe just . . . walk me through it?"

Maybe this was some exotic new form of mind-games (in which case, it was working) . . . or maybe Thorn's translation implant was having a _serious_ malfunction . . . or . . . 

Okay, Thorn was not the galaxy's biggest expert on Sønheic facial expressions, but this guy looked earnest. And, under the too-stiff posture, more nervous than Thorn did. Some kind of low-level cadet, maybe . . . and not nearly enough of a sadist for this job.

"I, uh, might be able to help," said Thorn slowly. "What's your name?"

"Leif."

"Okay, Leif. Are we starting from scratch, or is there anything you know already? Maybe you've heard some rumors, seen some vids . . . ?"

Helplessly, Leif shook his head. "I've heard a lot of slang, but it didn't come with diagrams. I think the females of your species do it face-up, and the males do it face-down? Or was it the other way around?"

"No, you had it right!" said Thorn, a plan beginning to form.

The alien's face lit up at the approval. It was . . . disturbingly cute.

"Here, I'll lie down. You get those boots off and kneel on top of me, one knee on either side of my waist."

He got comfortable -- as much as possible with the cuffs active -- chin resting on his folded hands. Leif obediently kicked off the boots and straddled his hips; when Thorn looked over his shoulder he saw Leif peeling off the gloves, too, revealing the dappled texture of the skin all the way up his forearms.

"That's good. That's great. Now run your hands up and down my back."

"This is when I take off your garments too, right?"

"Nah, you want to work up to that," Thorn assured him. "Start over-the-shirt. The torment will be more, ah, protracted that way. Go slow but firm."

He started with rubbing, then worked Leif up to kneading ("like an Arcturan mega-cat!"). Once he identified the knots in his muscles as particular erogenous zones, Leif turned out to have a talent for finding them, and it didn't hurt the charade at all that Thorn groaned in earnest while he worked them out.

"You'll have to power down cuffs to get my shirt off," said Thorn at last. He wouldn't have minded a longer massage, but it felt like they had enough of a rapport that Leif might let his guard down. And he was refreshed enough for a fight, if it came to that.

"Um . . . I'm not authorized to do that." Leif sounded almost apologetic as he worked his knuckles into the base of Thorn's spine. "What if I just pull it over your head, leaving your arms in the sleeves? Will that work?"

For karate-chopping his captor and making an escape? Not at all. For adding another layer to this little farce? Sure. It would be constraining, but not a whole lot worse than the cuffs themselves, and honestly Leif had proved so malleable that even if he tried to take advantage, Thorn felt prepared to talk him out of it. "Sure."

Soon enough Thorn's head was pillowed on an armful of cuffs-and-shirt, while Leif's hands worked over his bare back, the texture of the alien skin exotically rough against his own . . . 

"You were spying," snapped Leif. "You might as well admit it."

Oh, right, this was supposed to be an interrogation. "Was not."

"We already know. Just say it out loud, and I'll stop! You can make this so much easier on yourself, if you just start talking."

"I'll never talk," said Thorn boldly. "Do your worst."

"Oh, I will!" Leif's thumbs dug into a sore spot under Thorn's shoulder blade, and Thorn let himself squirm. "Don't make me use my mouth!"

Before he could think better of it, Thorn blurted, "For what?"

It was the end of Leif's short-lived attempt to sound genuinely threatening. "For . . . something! I know your people do _something_ with mouths! I'm not sure whether it's the same as our thing, but it's definitely a thing."

"Well, whatever you try, it won't work," said Thorn. "You can lick my shoulders, you can kiss my neck, you can even . . . " He threw in a little shudder, just to make his fake distaste more convincing. Why hadn't he gone into acting? Clearly he was a natural at this. " . . . _suck on my ears_ , but you will never, ever get me to talk."

Leif sucked in a sharp breath . . . then dipped down so his chest was almost brushing against Thorn's back, and caught Thorn's earlobe between his lips.

At that Thorn really did tense up. Mostly because he was trying not to laugh.

To his . . . credit? . . . Leif didn't have the stamina to put Thorn through such anguish for more than a few seconds before pulling back. "Anything to say now?"

Thorn gritted his teeth. "Still not a spy."

"Well." Leif coughed, brushing off his uniform. "You're . . . a tough one, obviously. Hard to crack. I'm sure management will understand if it takes more than one session. I'll let you sleep on it, and then decide if you want to do this again."

He pushed a button on his glasses, and a few seconds later the guard opened the door to escort him out. Thorn tried to look suitably semi-broken until he was alone again, then sighed when the cuffs powered down and worked on re-adjusting his disheveled shirt.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

"There's another mouth thing!"

This time Thorn wasn't asleep when Leif burst in. A meal had been delivered through a slot in the door, consisting entirely of the world's blandest replicator-produced protein bars; Thorn had eaten one bite and sat back to monitor himself for side effects. At that sample size, he was confident now, it wasn't dosed with enough of anything to poison, sedate, dissolve, and/or arouse him.

Not that it needed to be. Interacting with Leif already felt like tripping out. "What?"

"Another mouth thing," repeated Leif. "I did some research. Streamed a couple of romance documentaries. Your species applies mouths to _each other_. A lot more often than you put mouths on ears, according to a statistical meta-analysis."

"Uh, sure." Thorn sat back against the wall, cross-legged on the mattress, wrists vibro-tethered together in his lap. "I . . . can see where you might have gotten that impression, because . . . the mouth-on-ear thing is considered too racy for streaming. Especially for people who've not certified that they're under eighteen."

Leif's brow furrowed, antennae curling in confusion. "Your years, or mine? I'm only sixteen in mine."

Thorn did a _very_ fast conversion in his head. Didn't know the exact ratio -- wouldn't have plotted a warp course this fuzzy -- but roughly, Leif was within five Ceannic years of his own age. That was nice to know.

"Yours, obviously," he said out loud. That would keep Leif away from the human porn for a while. At least until he figured out it was possible to lie about your age.

"Obviously," echoed Leif. The Empire had a deep-rooted tendency to assume Sønheic standards were the natural and superior ones for everyone else in the galaxy, and apparently he was no exception. "Well, just to be thorough -- I'll do the other mouth thing anyway. Unless, of course, you want to admit to deliberately trespassing in our territory."

"I won't, because I wasn't," said Thorn flatly.

"Right. You asked for it."

But he didn't move away from the door. After a moment, Thorn raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Leif fidgeted. "Aren't you going to lie down again?"

Thorn did.

"Not face-down?"

"How are you supposed to put our mouths together if we're not facing each other?"

"Oh. Right. Okay."

Leif took a deep breath, brushed some invisible lint from his sleeves, and straddled Thorn's hips once more. He cast a nervous look at the hands folded across Thorn's stomach. Between bursting in so urgently, and leaving the armed guard behind almost immediately, he hadn't taken time for anything like "make the prisoner put his hands behind his back, at phaser-point, before turning the cuffs on."

Slowly, deliberately, Thorn folded his fingers together. If the motion put Leif in mind of how easily those same fingers might wrap around . . . oh, just as a random example . . . something neck-sized? Well, it would probably serve him right.

Instead of wilting under the intimidation, Leif went for counter-intimidating, and hardly stuttered at all. "We've not told the Federation we captured you, you know."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Thorn. "You can't do that. We have a treaty." Although the Empire was probably a lot less inept at keeping prisoners secret than it was at molesting them . . . 

"We also have a treaty against spying! And if you weren't a spy, or didn't have something else to hide, why wouldn't they just ask for you back?"

"If your people claim you've not seen me, my people probably believe it! They're probably searching for debris wherever my ship was last heard from. What if they think I'm dead? What if my _family_ thinks I'm dead?"

"This isn't personal!" countered Leif. "We're trying to catch out the Federation, that's all! Once we have your confession, we'll confront them, and then anyone can know you're alive."

"There's nothing to confess."

Leif planted both hands on Thorn's chest and slid them upward. "Are you sure about that?"

"I'm not a spy."

The alien started working his shoulders and neck, from the front this time. Thorn did his best impression of a man stoically bearing up under harsh interrogation.

This time he didn't get such a thorough massage before Leif bent down and pressed their lips together.

In spite of everything, if Thorn closed his eyes, he could almost pretend this was an ordinary hookup. If the two of them had met in some Neutral Zone bar, if the cute alien had approached him with awkward flirting instead of awkward attempts to be threatening, there was a nonzero chance Thorn would have gone with it.

He answered the kiss, lips parting, tongue slipping into Leif's mouth . . . 

Leif jolted back with a poorly-muffled squawk. "What was that?"

Was it stupid that part of Thorn felt bad? "Involuntary physical reaction," he improvised. "Human bodies, you know? They just won't quit. Even when they're being molested for a false confession."

A twitch went through the hands gripping Thorn's shoulders; the alien's antennae bent down at a disapproving angle. "Why would I want a false confession? I'm here to get a _true_ one."

Oh, for stars' sake. "You don't get _real_ confessions out of people by _raping_ them," hissed Thorn -- which was, after all, what Leif believed he was doing, no matter how silly and innocent it was coming out in practice. "You get whatever they think you want to hear to make you _stop_."

"The truth!" cried Leif, sounding genuinely distressed. "That's all I want! I'll stop if you tell the truth!"

He was such a _rookie_. Distracted. Caught up in his own agitation.

Totally unprepared for Thorn to lever upward from the waist and grab two fistfuls of Empire uniform.

A second later Thorn kicked off the bed and flipped them over onto the floor, knocking Leif's head against the grey tiles, pinning Leif's forearms with his elbows and leaning as much of his weight as possible on them to pin the alien down. Leif finally reacted, squirming and flailing, but he wasn't strong enough to flip Thorn on upper-body strength alone and clearly had no idea he could be doing anything with his legs at all.

Carefully, Thorn shifted his arms forward until his wrists framed either side of Leif's neck.

The humming band of energy that ran between the vibro-cuffs rested against the column of Leif's throat. Thorn might not know every detail of Sønheic biology, but he knew they breathed the same way humans did.

"The truth," he said, once those ruby eyes came into focus, "is that I'm not a spy."

Leif kicked a bit, helpless, breath coming fast and shallow.

"And, listen, if I pushed down on this a little harder --" Thorn moved his fists. Leif's eyes bulged in horror as the point of pressure rolled up and down his throat. "-- and said that I'd only let up once you admitted you were wrong, I bet I'd be hearing some apologies pretty quick! Not that I'm going to. There are _rules_ about how you treat captives in this galaxy, and the Federation actually _follows_ them."

"Y-you couldn't," rasped Leif. "Guards -- they'd come in before you killed me -- phaser you into the wall first."

"Good thing I don't want to kill you, then," said Thorn. "Just making a point."

They held positions for a minute, gazes locked on each other. Except for the break when Thorn tossed his head a bit, trying to get his hair out of his face.

"I, uh, was kind of expecting someone to be in here already," he admitted.

Leif said nothing, but his eyes and antennae darted toward the still-closed cell door. Was that more fear? Or confusion?

" . . . Oh," said Thorn slowly. "Oh, geez. They're not coming, are they?"

"Be here any second," croaked Leif.

"No, I don't think they will." Thorn's mind raced over the strategy of it. He hadn't just gotten this rank with hotshot flying and photogenic hair, after all. "Because this is all kinds of illegal, nobody's looking. Nobody at the door. Nobody sending a feed to a security terminal. You were given this assignment -- even though, seriously, you are _terrible_ at it -- because you're someone they can afford to throw under a carriage if the word gets out! Or, if I turn out to be dangerous -- which, as you can see, I am -- they can afford to _lose_ you. You're here because you're _expendable_."

Slowly, Leif stopped struggling. His antennae had formed these frazzled little zigzags, and Thorn had a feeling it wasn't just the stress of imminent choking.

He hadn't _known_.

Thorn held him in place a minute longer . . . just so it was it absolutely clear, to both of them, that no backup was coming . . . then sat back on his heels and shook out his straining arms.

Once Leif realized what had happened, he scooted backward almost to the nearest wall, cupping a hand protectively over his throat. "What --?"

"This is the point where you leave," said Thorn helpfully. "Unless you want to go back to 'inflicting unwanted sexual stimulation.' Well, _try_ to go back to it. If I were you, I'd give up on that, and go tell your bosses you're coming around to believing the 'not a spy' part."

Leif scrambled for the door, signaled it to open without taking his eyes off Thorn, and went.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

The lights in the cell were on some kind of motion sensor; they went off if Thorn held still for long enough. He lay quietly on the bed, one arm over his face, and waited.

"Well, that was dumb," he said out loud, when the darkness finally kicked in. "Had a nice thing going, and then you threw it all away."

Was someone listening over a security feed, now that Leif wasn't here? Who knew. But it had been a while since Thorn's last food-delivery-slash-checkin, and there was a healthy amount of time left before his next one, so he might as well think of it as privacy. 

He could have gone on getting the spa treatment indefinitely . . . or at least, for a pretty long time . . . maybe even long enough for the Federation to figure out where he was. Could've left all of Leif's illusions intact, easily. The one about torture wasn't actually hurting Thorn, and the one about being valued by his superiors made Leif happy.

Instead he had tried to get the truth through Leif's head. And for what? One foot-soldier wasn't going to change how the Empire treated its captives. Even if Leif himself started resisting, they would just swap in someone else to torture Thorn. Possibly someone who actually knew where human erogenous zones were.

Almost definitely someone who wasn't as malleable. How much could Thorn have talked Leif into, if he had made a long-term project out of it?

A vivid image flashed into Thorn's mind, of Leif kneeling between his legs, unfastening Thorn's pants with the usual weird mix of hostility and credulity. Licking his lips and glancing up at Thorn, antennae pointed with skepticism. _You're sure this appendage is supposed to be sucked on?_ And Thorn answering, _it isn't, it will be horribly overstimulating and will probably break my spirit for good, especially if you swirl your tongue around. Yeah, just like that. Hm, nope, not feeling broken yet -- you'd better take it deeper._

With a groan of frustration Thorn rolled over on his front. Which of courses made the lights flicker on. He grabbed the thin excuse for a pillow and held it over his head, squishing his hair and blocking most of the brilliance from his squeezed-shut eyes. He hadn't even _done_ the thing, but good old reliable Iuilic guilt was kicking in just from daydreaming about it.

Did that even make sense? Leif was an adult! He already thought he was sexually stimulating a human either way -- and was trying to do it without the human's consent, no less! Why should it make a moral difference whether Thorn manipulated the alien into doing something he secretly enjoyed, or, you know, something he secretly _enjoyed?_

"Gonna take a long xenoethics course when I get out of here," muttered Thorn into the mattress. He didn't let himself think, _**if** I get out of here._


	2. Chapter 2

The next time the cell door opened, the vibro-cuffs powered on while Thorn was in the middle of a set of one-armed push-ups, yanking his wrists together and making him thud awkwardly to the floor.

A few seconds later, they went inert again. Grumbling, Thorn hefted himself back up. Why they had to physically lean in to check on him this time, instead of doing it from outside when they brought him lunch . . . 

He did a double-take when he realized someone had come in, and an auxiliary double-take when he saw that it was Leif.

Well, as long as his hands were free, Thorn stood up and planted them on his hips. He'd shed most of his uniform for the exercise, because it was the only one he had and the Empire wasn't giving him laundry-room access, but no matter. A pair of modest shorts and the right kind of glare glare could make anyone else feel underdressed. "What do you want now?"

" . . . nothing," said Leif in a small voice.

"I'm still not a spy. The Federation doesn't _spy_."

"I know! I mean -- not saying I believe you. I knew you would say that."

"So why are you here?"

"Look, my manager won't give me a new assignment!" burst out Leif. "I have to keep visiting you until you either confess to me or, or k-kill me, whichever comes first. So -- so maybe I could just sit in the corner here for a while? I won't interrupt what you're doing. I can even leave the cuffs powered down."

" . . . sure, okay," said Thorn, once he had gotten over the shock. "I can work with that."

He finished his push-ups, then did a matching set with his other arm, body angled so he could keep tabs on Leif in his peripheral vision. Even if he had to toss his hair out of his face every five reps to manage it.

True to his word, Leif sat quietly at the far end of the cell, staring at the floor while his arms rested on his knees. He didn't look up when Thorn cooled down, splashing himself with water from the minimalist restroom fixtures and using wet fingers to comb back his hair. Didn't move when Thorn came to rest on the bed not far from his corner.

It was hard to track time, since Thorn's own equipment had been confiscated. All he knew was that a fair amount of it had passed when a tiny red light in the corner of Leif's glasses started flashing.

"That should be enough time to be . . . realistic," said Leif quietly, getting to his feet. "I'll just . . . um . . . " His brow furrowed. "Is human hair supposed to do that?"

Thorn raised a hand to his head. The water had dried, and the frizz was out in force. "It's not standard for all of us," he admitted. "But it's normal for mine."

"Oh. As long as you're not . . . sick, or anything." When Thorn didn't respond, Leif continued: "I'll go."

Something prompted Thorn to sit down and, for the benefit of the armed guard who led Leif out, hold his un-cuffed hands behind his back.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

"I brought you a thing."

For a second Thorn stared blankly at the little fuzzy loop in the alien's palm, unable to place it.

"For your hair," explained Leif. "I'm not supposed to give you anything without authorization, but, well, it's not digital. It's not even metal. How much nefarious spy action can you get up to with a hair tie? I, um . . . I can just set it down somewhere, and you can pick it up . . . "

Thorn crossed the cell and plucked the hair tie out of Leif's hand. His thick locks more-or-less behaved as he gathered them back into the loop. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry I can't do more," stammered Leif. "I can't -- I was thinking about what you said, about your family not knowing you're here -- but warship communications are all under surveillance. I don't have clearance to send a message that nobody else would read."

Okay, even knowing this cell wasn't being monitored, Thorn was genuinely startled. "You checked on that? For me?"

"No! For them. Even if you're a spy, it isn't _their_ fault."

"Still. You don't know anything about them." Thorn wondered what Leif was imagining. A stay-at-home knight-husband, bravely bearing up against the uncertainty? A pack of tearful children asking when their dad was coming home? "Even if you didn't send something . . . just looking into the possibility is more covert action against the Sønheic Empire than I have committed in literally my entire life." Teasing, he added, "I hear people get tortured for that kind of thing."

It spurred Leif into a full-body cringe. "I wasn't supposed to need to!" he cried. "You were supposed to give in _early_. That's how it goes in all the training materials. And the extremely accurate docudramas based on true stories. It was all supposed to be over long before you . . . before _I_ . . . "

A pregnant pause.

"I'm sorry. I'll stop talking. I'll sit in my corner."

 

\- * - * - * -

 

"I should probably mention," said Thorn, sitting cross-legged on the floor, "that you didn't actually rape me."

Leif was in the corner again, face in hands. Thorn had taken a seat facing him, at the same eye level -- close enough to indicate some comfort, far enough that he was safely out of molesting/strangling range.

At the speech, Leif raised his head just enough to stare at Thorn through a gap in his fingers. "Hnh?"

"Don't get me wrong," said Thorn quickly, "you should still feel like a terrible person for trying. But, yeah, everything I told you to do -- or not to do -- was a misdirect. All non-traumatizing to human sexual biology."

"So you're . . . okay? I mean, you're still locked up and everything, but you're . . . "

" . . . unmolested," said Thorn. "Honestly, I even talked you into doing some things that feel good."

Leif's eyes went as round as flying saucers. "Oh my stars, you Br'er Cabbited me."

The translation implant didn't catch the idiom. Leif ended up explaining the whole folk tale behind it, how Br'er Cabbit tricked some villains into abandoning him on the briar planet. Which reminded Thorn of the classic Ceannic cartoons where Cricket Cabbit would fake an over-the-top death, and manipulate the hunter into regretting ever trying to hurt her in the first place. That one didn't ring a bell to Leif, so it became Thorn's turn to explain.

They were still talking when the indicator light in Leif's glasses started blinking.

"You might as well stay," said Thorn. "There's not a lot to do in here. Having someone to talk to is the most interesting thing that's happened to me all week."

"I shouldn't push it," fretted Leif. "Things could get . . . complicated . . . if management thinks I'm, um, enjoying this too much. But we could probably get away with a little longer."

 

\- * - * - * -

 

Surreal as it was, Thorn had a harder time getting a backrub when Leif was trying to make it _good_.

The alien kept hesitating. Second-guessing. Stopping to ask if humans could really be touched _there_ without feeling violated, and was Thorn absolutely sure, because the last time Leif had tried it Thorn had made these _noises_ . . . 

But there weren't a lot of other things Leif could do to make Thorn's imprisonment easier. Any smuggled-in electronics would get caught by sensors. The Empire warship wasn't exactly known for carrying print books. He had smuggled a handful of tiny orange-y vegetables out of the mess hall, which Thorn had devoured for the sheer joy of having something to eat that wasn't protein bars, but that hadn't lasted long.

At last Thorn talked Leif into a massaging rhythm that was comfortable for both of them. Even managed to coax the alien into sharing fun facts about Sønheic plant life, without a nervous digression in the middle of every one to ask whether Thorn was okay.

Thorn was feeling boneless and relaxed and downright pleasant when Leif muttered, "You should probably hit me before I leave."

"I'm not going to beat you up," said Thorn. "I told you. We don't do that."

"I didn't say beat me up!" said Leif quickly. "You don't have to go that far! It's just, well -- management thinks you're dangerous, remember? If they start getting the impression that you're not . . . they might, um, replace me with someone less expendable."

And harder-to-fool in general, and probably meaner, yeah, Thorn got the picture. "Okay, then . . . what's the most dramatic-looking thing I could do, while keeping the actual damage as mild as possible?"

As an example, he explained how you could give a human a shallow, harmless scrape in certain places, and still be guaranteed to get blood everywhere. Once Leif understood, he stammered through an admission that his people had certain . . . appendages . . . located in the groinal area that could do an impressive amount of swelling when kicked.

"Maybe you could rough me up a little first," offered Thorn. "You know, for the benefit of the guard, and whoever else checks up on me. Might score some points with the higher-ups if it looks like you got in some solid torture before I got the better of you."

"Oh, good!" Leif sounded _immensely_ relieved. "I didn't want to be the one to bring it up, but yes, that would help. Should I give you one of those . . . shallow wounds?"

Thorn hadn't specified that he meant head wounds, and wasn't inclined to reveal it now, just in case he needed to use one in a fakout at some point. "I was thinking, remember before when I tricked you into neck-kissing . . . ?"

Which was how he ended up sitting against the wall with Leif straddling his lap.

Since his cuffs weren't powered on, he flailed with his hands for a moment, then settled for resting them on the alien's hips. If there was a better place for them, Leif didn't say so. His own hands rested loosely on Thorn's shoulders; the fabric of Thorn's shirt rustled under the flexing of nervous fingers.

"When I did this before," said Leif cautiously, "did it feel good? Like the massaging? Or was it just ordinary misdirection?"

"Misdirection." Honesty compelled Thorn to add, "Having a mouth on your bare skin is the kind of thing that _could_ be stimulating for a human . . . in a sexual way, even . . . but it needs, you know. Circumstances."

"Ah," said Leif wisely. As if he, of all people, was an expert on human _circumstances_. "What about mouths on mouths?"

Oh, good, Thorn hadn't been the only one remembering that. Not that you could blame him, sitting face-to-face with Leif on his thighs. He had a flash of wondering how Leif would react to neck-kissing -- his skin was so pale, and his species' blood so blue, you probably wouldn't need to get all that enthusiastic before it showed . . . 

"Stimulating," he stammered. "You were right, that's more of a real human sex thing. Unpleasant when unwanted."

Leif's head bowed. "Sorry."

It hadn't been too unpleasant for Thorn in practice -- but he didn't want to confuse Leif's impression of whether it was okay. He settled for saying, "Not the worst thing you could've done."

"What about -- the tongue movement?" The alien's cheeks were turning slightly purple. "Was it really involuntary?"

"It's . . . typical. When it surprised you, I figured maybe I could use it to scare you off."

Leif gave a short nod. His antennae were curled up in little spools against his hair.

Thorn grimaced . . . then leaned up just enough to rest his forehead against Leif's. "Hey," he said gently. "We've got an okay thing going now, right? Let's just focus on keeping that up. Starting with you chewing on my neck for a while."

Should have expected it when Leif's translation implant took that literally, and Thorn ended up with a neck covered in bite marks. (Not that he was totally averse to biting . . . but it was another of those things that took _circumstances_.) At least the alien teeth weren't sharper than the average human's. It only made Thorn uncomfortable, it didn't sever his jugular.

At last Leif pulled away. He was breathing more heavily than Thorn was . . . which made part of Thorn start uncomfortably second-guessing just how much he knew about _Sønheic_ sexual biology. "How's that?"

"It'll bruise plenty."

"And you're still not a spy?"

"Not in any way, shape, or form."

"Okay." Leif stood up, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. "Go ahead and kick me in the wrigglers. I'm ready."

Whatever effect Thorn had expected, the reality left it in the dust. Leif barely managed to crawl to the door. By the time the guard let him out, his pants were swollen like someone had stuffed a couple of blernsballs down the front; and Thorn was hiding his hands because, again, Leif had forgotten to switch the cuffs back on.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

"Management was impressed. Thanks."

"Any time." No, wait, that didn't sound right. "I mean, uh. Congratulations."

"I won't be able to give much of a massage today, though." Leif's hands were folded nervously behind his back. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Thorn had been expecting the guy to get hand cramps at some point. "Did you manage to snag me anything else to eat?"

"Um, no. That's why I can't do the massage," admitted Leif. "I tried to sneak a donut for you, but this time I got caught, and, well . . . reprimanded for hoarding."

The connection wasn't obvious until it came out that "reprimanded" meant "zapped with a light phaser on the hand." Leif's palm was seared a brighter violet than the dull-purple skin around it, and probably still hot to the touch. Thorn, who was sort of an expert on phaser burns, made him sit on the bed and took a look.

"It'll sting for a while," he said at last, "but won't leave a mark, or any permanent damage."

"They usually don't."

Even though Thorn had known for a while that Leif's rank was "expendable", it still made his stomach hurt to see the evidence. No wonder the Empire kept its diplomatic distance from the Federation. Rank-and-file soldiers would never take these jobs if it was too easy to get hired on a ship where they didn't zap their own subordinates.

"If you were a human," said Thorn absently, "the thing for me to do right now would be kiss your hand."

Leif looked hopeful. "Does your saliva have analgesic properties?"

" . . . sorry." Thorn was already embarrassed for bringing it up. "It's just a sign of . . . feelings. Sympathy. Uh, affection. If it's weird to do to your species, don't even worry about it."

"It's not weird!" Now Leif's cheeks were turning violet too. "We don't really have separate lip things. You're already putting your hand-skin against my hand -- it isn't different, for me, if you put your lips there too. You could do it. If you wanted. If it means something different for you."

Thorn thought about it . . . then, gently, raised Leif's hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to Leif's knuckles.

It was nice. It was really, honestly nice. Except for the fact that it brought the cuff on his wrist into his field of view, reminding him that it was still there even if it wasn't turned on and he'd adjusted to the constant weight.

Leif, not looking at him, was still talking. "It's putting something _between_ the lips that starts to get . . . extra stimulating. Like a tongue. Or fingers. That's what you do when someone needs to be warmed up before they want actual sex -- I mean, you're only supposed to do it if they want to be warmed up, you're not supposed to just --"

He was a secret prisoner, he might get shuffled off into some permanent secret prison the next time the warship went into orbit around a planet, one tiny bit of careless flying could cost the rest of his life, nobody he loved even knew he was here --

"Thorn . . . ?"

It was the first time anyone had used his name, instead of "you", in almost two weeks.

"I'm not a spy," said Thorn, a little more desperate than was strictly dignified, "and I want to go _home_."

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. As long as you say you're not a spy, there's nothing I can do." Leif kissed _his_ hand, then cupped the base of Thorn's skull and rested their foreheads together -- either that was a Sønheic thing as well as a human one, or he was paying attention to Thorn's gestures and had finally picked up some accurate details. "I'll try to steal you another donut. Or a book! Some of the officers have books. Please don't look like that."

Thorn let himself fall forward onto Leif's shoulder and wrap his arms around Leif in a lonely, grateful, comfort-seeking hug.

Once Leif got used to the position, he mirrored it. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he repeated. "I'm really, really sorry."

He held Thorn until the timer on his glasses went off, and for a while afterward, too.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

The air practically vibrated with excitement as Leif stepped into the cell. Thorn was back to lying in bed with a pillow over his face, and even from there he could feel Leif's agitation.

The alien crouched by the side of the bed, lifted up a corner of the pillow to uncover Thorn's ear, and whispered: "You're not a spy!"

"I know," mumbled Thorn.

"But now _I_ know! I went back and looked at the sensor records, at the flight logs . . . Thorn, I found your ship. You weren't trespassing. You stayed on the edge of the Neutral Zone the whole time."

Slowly, disbelievingly, Thorn dragged the pillow off of his face. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

"I wasn't flying carelessly? My sensors weren't malfunctioning? I got kidnapped out of _neutral space?_ "

"The head of security must have known the whole time. The captain must have known. My manager -- and they lied to me, probably lied to the guards, the rest of the ship doesn't even know you're here --"

Should Thorn start with anger, horror, or skip straight to hysteria? "This is so illegal. This is so many more kinds of illegal than it already was. This is unbelievable! This --"

"-- so I'm going to send a message for you!"

That brought Thorn up short. He sat up on one elbow, so the two of them were face-to-face rather than face-to-ear. "You are? What about what they'll do to you?"

"They already _lied_ to me to manipulate me into _raping_ someone so they could get a _false confession_ out of an innocent person!" cried Leif. "How much worse can it get?"

Well, when he put it like that.

"You have to tell me what to send, and tell me where to send it," Leif continued. His antennae stood straight up before arching slightly forward, like a person walking into a strong headwind. Determined. "There's no point if I send something and your government never receives it. Or if they don't understand it. Or if they think it's a troll and never come looking for you."

"I can do that. There's a code for situations like this. Don't look at me like that -- it's not a spy code. It's a person-whose-job-makes-them-likely-to-be-taken-secret-prisoner code."

He spelled it out. Leif repeated it. Then took off his glasses, did something that disconnected them from the warship's internal network, and made a recording. By the time he clipped the device to his forearm, his antennae were zigzagging with anxiety, but he was steadfastly refusing to admit it.

Thorn cupped his face, stroking one thumb over his pale cheek. "You're a lifesaver. You have no idea how much this means."

A nod. Small enough that it didn't break Thorn's grip.

"If you were human, I . . . well, I wouldn't just kiss you out of the blue. That's rude. I would move in a way that made it obvious I _wanted_ to kiss you, and hope that you went for it."

Leif rested a hand over the one cupping his cheek, textured skin resting against smooth. "And that . . . would be less meaningful than sex, or even foreplay . . . but would mean more than other ways of saying 'thank you'. Is that right?"

Now Thorn was the one blushing. "That about covers it, yeah."

"Feelings? Sympathy? . . . Affection?"

"Yes. All that. Plus . . . you're going to do something risky, something dangerous, and I just, I want you to know it's appreciated. Really, viscerally know that."

"So . . . circumstances."

Thorn nodded.

He was struggling over the words to explain that there was attraction, too -- that he wouldn't force himself to do this with just anyone, that Leif wouldn't be taking advantage -- when Leif guided Thorn's hand down his cheek, and took Thorn's thumb ever-so-gently between his lips.

It made Leif shiver. Thorn could feel it, physically feel it this time, and felt an answering thrum of heat from his own body. Especially when Leif sucked him in a little deeper, and two realizations hit Thorn at once: that for Leif's species this was the erotic equivalent of grinding against his hand, and that Thorn would not have any need to walk him through what humans liked you to do with your tongue.

He dared to move his hand too, watched the purple flush spread all over Leif's face, then sat up and tugged Leif lightly towards him. "C'mon, let's not do this with you on the floor. Up on the bed."

As before, Leif ended up on top of him, but this time there was a lot less pinning-down and a lot more . . . cuddling. Leif buried both hands in Thorn's thick hair, while Thorn caressed the inside of Leif's mouth with two slowly-thrusting fingers. The squirming and moaning alone were worth the price of admission. The _sucking_ . . . stars, that was not suitable for anyone under eighteen Ceannic years.

Spitting him out for a moment, Leif murmured, "Don't you have _any_ antennae? Vestigial ones? Something?"

So that was what he was feeling around Thorn's scalp for. "Not a thing. Don't worry, the head-touching still feels nice."

"Not as nice as it would if you had antennae-bases to rub."

Whether or not that was supposed to be a hint, Thorn took it, feeling for the pill-sized nubs on the crown of Leif's head and rubbing little circles against them. For a second Leif gaped like he'd done something obscene -- maybe he should've wiped the saliva off his one hand first? -- then those ruby eyes glazed over, and Leif was rocking his hips against Thorn's.

Something in his pants was wriggling.

Thorn gave him a light kiss -- no tongue, not yet. "Actual human sex involves the junk between our legs," he whispered in Leif's ear.

"R-really? Ours too!"

"I had a hunch," said Thorn fondly. Why _couldn't_ he have met Leif in a Neutral Zone bar? Why couldn't they have fumbled through this in some tourist-trap motel room, with nothing dangerous hanging over either of their heads? "Do you wanna . . . ?"

" . . . get our pants off?"

"Yeah. That."

Instead of going for it right away, Leif bent for another kiss, and this time he was the one who led with tongue. Thorn melted into it, realizing he was in no hurry. He'd been so hungry for any kind of connection with other people -- more than he'd let himself think about -- he didn't want this to end . . . 

. . . and Leif's hands were still up here, but there was _something_ pulling at Thorn's pants. Something slick and winding, feeling its way inside.

The door hummed open.

Thorn yanked his hands down from Leif's hair, hoping Leif would have the presence of mind to activate the cuffs -- wrenched his face away, trying to remember how to look traumatized --

A zap and a flash of phaser fire -- and Leif was the one who went limp, collapsing on top of Thorn like a bag of wet sand.


	3. Chapter 3

Thorn was stressed and disoriented by weeks of alien imprisonment, he was more than a little turned on by the session of alien heavy-petting that had just been interrupted, and he was half-pinned under at least fourteen decapounds of alien unconscious body.

No wonder he could only stutter when the unfamiliar voice said, "Sir Thorn? I'm here to rescue you."

Unfamiliar voice -- but familiar words, native Ceannic, not Sønheic filtered through his translation implant. Thorn craned his neck to see a human woman, tall with dark-green hair and biceps that could probably have snapped the door open manually, keeping an eye on the corridor where at least one Sønheic guard lay crumpled on the floor. She was dressed in plain blacks and greys with no markers of allegiance, and dual-wielding a generic phaser with a stolen Sønheic one.

"What?" stammered Thorn.

"Me. You. Rescue. I know you're in a bad way, darling, but shake it off and get moving, won't you? We've not got all day. The security feeds won't stay hacked forever."

"How do I know you're Federation?" blurted Thorn, trying to get some kind of handle on things. "Who even are you?"

The woman sighed heavily, rattled off Thorn's full name, rank, and serial number, then gave a code Thorn recognized, but could've sworn was for the accounting division. "I'm a _spy_ , darling."

" . . . we have those?"

"Fortunately for certain poor little lost lambs, yes," said the spy pointedly. "You can call me Del. Are you injured? Have they not been feeding you properly? Are you chained down in some way I can't quite see?"

"Not injured, decently fed, not chained. Thanks in part to him." Thorn started struggling to get up without dumping Leif on the floor. Good grief, when they got out of this, _he_ was going to be the one with some apologies to make. "Can you carry him?"

" . . . excuse me?"

"They haven't exactly been keeping me on a muscle-building diet, here. I can handle the phasers, my aim's still good, but it'll be a lot easier if you do the carrying."

"But for heaven's sake, _why?_ " exclaimed Del. "The shot was on stun -- I doubt he'll need medical attention at all, and if he does, why, the on-board medical will get here in more than enough time. If it had been me, I wouldn't be able to leave my captors behind soon enough."

"He's not exactly a priority for their medical," said Thorn shortly. "And he's not in charge of this place, doesn't have any say in who they hold captive, and he's been punished for helping me already. I'm not going to abandon him to whatever his bosses would do if they decided he let me escape."

He straightened his own pants, and moved to adjust Leif's -- except, wow, that was going to take some work. There was a _tentacle_ hanging out of a gap in the fabric, covered in nubby purple skin, as wide as two of Thorn's fingers and at least as long as his forearm. Had to be prehensile, even if right now it was as limp as the rest of Leif's limbs.

How did he even fit that _in_ there? Thorn would never in good conscience be able to use the phrase "a grower, not a shower" for a human again.

Thorn ended up conscripting the sheet, wrapping it around Leif's midsection like a cheap toga. That would have to cover it for now. "Are you carrying him, or do I have to?"

"Let me take care of those cuffs for you first," sighed Del . . . and, from nowhere Thorn could see, produced a handheld vibro- _axe_.

She didn't have to offer twice.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

Del led them down the corridor to a spot that didn't look anything special to Thorn, but that let Del remotely signal the transporter on . . . whatever ship she had flown in on. The cockpit, when they beamed into it, was only about the size of Thorn's cell -- but it was full of equipment, and sensors, and it had a _window_.

The sight of the stars over the warship's hull was so absorbing, Thorn wasn't watching as Del hip-checked a switch, and got barked in the shin when a fold-out cot set itself up.

A quick final scan for bugs, and then the stars were pitching and rolling around them as the little spycraft peeled away from the warship. Thorn didn't truly relax until he saw the view morph into the physics-warping star-streaks of hyperspace, all the while holding Leif's hand tightly in his.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

Captain Gerri Sureau of the Ceannic exploring ship _Ruby_ accepted Thorn's petition to stash Leif in "somewhere secure, okay sure, but not _prison_ prison."

He himself was welcomed with a new set of gear, a nutrient shake with a side of cinnamon buns, and the first change of clothes he'd had in weeks. A medical scan said he was physically fine; an empath certified him psychologically stable. He got the ship's wifi password, and was finally, finally able to make some calls.

Officially he was on medical leave, but if he wanted to go to the ship's gym there were crewmembers who would be happy to spar with him. He was trying to decide between that and the holodeck when he got a ping that Leif had been debriefed, and wanted to see him. His new location app would show him where.

Sure enough, Leif's holding not-cell was acceptably cushy. Sparkly sensor crystals were embedded in the walls; soft panels of light glowed down from the ceiling. A round-edged window (there didn't seem to be any right angles in the whole room) opened onto a spectacular view of the planet they were orbiting, rings and all.

Leif sat on the edge of the bed, at attention, though he was no longer in the imposing Sønska uniform. They'd give him a set of soft pajamas, and non-cyber glasses -- no tech and no extra functions, just an inert frame holding plain curved lenses.

He looked cuter like this.

"So apparently I'm sort of a prisoner?" said Leif nervously, as Thorn took the chair across from him and gestured for him to relax. "But also sort of a political refugee, if I want to be? And they'll even tell the Empire that you killed me during the rescue and dumped me into space, so in their records I'll officially be a martyr, not . . . um, a traitor."

"That's my understanding, yeah."

"Do you -- the Federation, you -- do that a lot?" Leif's posture was still straight, but his antennae were curling with uncertainty. "Get into shootouts and then dump the casualties into space? Or do we just believe the story because it's what _we_ would do?"

Before his kidnapping, Thorn would have said no, never, absolutely not. "I -- I don't know. I hope not. If it happens, it's not something I have the security clearance to know about."

"Because you're not a spy."

"Exactly."

A shy smile flickered on Leif's face before he got serious again. "Did you call your family?"

"Yeah. My sister and my mum." (There was a twitch in Leif's antennae at that, too small for Thorn to interpret.) "Official story is that I was on an underground mission, and came back safe. I'm sorry that's not an option for you . . . "

"Oh, I don't have a family," said Leif with a shrug. "And it sounds like there are support groups for people from the Empire who get political asylum? Even if I get prosecuted and sentenced for a while, I could join one after I get out."

Thorn frowned. "Did they tell you they were prosecuting you for anything?"

"No. Why would they?"

" . . . because that's the kind of thing we have to tell you," said Thorn, at a loss. Good thing there were support groups for this kind of situation, because wow, was Leif going to need one.

"It's not like they don't have cause," said Leif uncomfortably. "When they asked, I explained . . . what I was ordered to do, and what I didn't actually do . . . and I'm sure they can read between the lines from there."

"Well, I explained that the only Xenevå conventions you'd violated were under duress, and didn't hurt me anyway, and it wasn't worth prosecuting over." Thorn found himself leaning forward. "You deserved to get out of there as much as I did. To have a chance to start fresh. I believe that, and I'm not going to testify against it, unless you suddenly give me a reason _not_ to believe it. _You're_ not going to suddenly turn out to be a spy, are you?"

Another flick of a smile. "No, sir."

"Well, then."

Leif really was cute when he was relieved. The soft lighting was much kinder to his pale skin than the harsh lights on the warship had been, and the lavender pajamas coordinated smoothly with his purple-skinned hands and dark violet hair.

"Did you tell them about . . . " Leif stuttered. " . . . about, um -- what we were doing when you were -- rescued?" 

"Sort of," admitted Thorn. "There was an empath. They have the general idea. No details!"

"And . . . they let you in here alone?"

"Apparently." After so many days being thrown together with Leif whenever Leif's management wanted, it hadn't occurred to Thorn that anyone might force them to _not_ be in the same room. "I guess the empaths decided it wasn't a . . . psychological risk."

"Empaths, right," said Leif with a nod. "I assume we're monitored, though."

"Only for outgoing communications," said Thorn quickly. "As long as neither of us tries to send secret spy messages, we won't be recorded."

For a moment they just gazed at each other, cautiously hopeful.

Then Leif slid backward onto the bed, and Thorn, as if drawn by a magnetic pull, followed.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

Leif didn't just have a tentacle in his pants.

He had _seven_ tentacles.

Thorn slid his fist up and down one of them, which quivered gently in his grip whilst the others undulated around nearby. The skin was purple-on-purple, lightly textured, but slippery with something that made it go smooth through his hand. "Mmm. Are you moving these on purpose? Or is it -- reflex?"

"R-reflex. I can move on purpose too -- if I want -- for now." The six free ones stretched upward, all moving together like the fronds of a fan, curling around Thorn's forearm before peeling away. "They'll start seriously clutching on their own, soon, if . . . "

Thorn, experimentally, squeezed the last tentacle to hold it still and ran his other hand all the way down to the base. It was just barely too thick here to clasp all the way around, with puckered skin on the underside that seemed to get wetter by the second as he probed it with his fingers.

" . . . if you do things like that!" squeaked Leif, tentacles and toes curling all at once.

Oh, Thorn wanted to get _all_ up in this. "So . . . there's an orifice in here somewhere, right?" he said, voice uncontrollably rough. "Because I've only got the one, uh, appendage . . . but it's really down with penetration. Like, _really_ down. If that's okay."

Leif's cheeks were flushed a vivid violet. "Ovipositor or s-spermatopositor?"

"Second one." Uh-oh, were they biologically cross-fertile? Hybrids weren't _common_ , exactly, and Thorn's sterility implant had a 99% accuracy rating, but -- 

"Then yes you can put that in me," panted Leif. "You can put a lot of things in me. Lower, go lower, you're touching it already, just keep -- ah!"

He fell abruptly back, hitting the pillow with a thump, as Thorn's fingers slid into a channel that was even slicker and hotter than what he'd been fondling already. Tighter, too, but that was all relative -- by human standards it was ridiculously open, no muscle resistance to work past, no flesh clamping down around the intrusion.

"Oh, jeez, I think I can fit my whole hand in here," whispered Thorn.

A moment later he was fisting Leif in earnest, whilst Leif's tentacles spiraled around his forearm and tugged him in helpfully deeper.

Oh, fuck, if he kept this up for much longer his dick was going to tear through his pants. Thorn pulled his arm back -- it was slick up to the elbow, but that didn't stop the tentacles from clinging with a remarkably firm grip -- he got away to the tune of a wet slurping noise that was absolutely _filthy_. "Be back in a second," he panted, making a halfhearted attempt to wipe his palm on the nearest patch of sheet, most of his focus on getting his trousers off one-handed.

He gave his cock a few long slow pulls, letting out a groan as it took the edge off the throbbing ache. Through fluttering eyelids he saw Leif sit up again, tentacles grasping wildly at the air between them. "That's it?"

"Yeah."

"And it's supposed to be -- stiff, like that?"

The mixture of uncertainty and intrigue in his voice was addictive. Thorn nodded, rapid and shaky. "Yeah, they're not -- prehensile or anything. So they get hard, then you use your hips to, uh." For a change he held his hand in place, thrusting a couple of times into his fist. "To aim. See?"

"Ohhhhh," breathed Leif, now with unbridled fascination. "Oh, that's _clever._ "

And he used both hands to pull back his flailing tentacles, giving Thorn an opening.

Once Thorn had lined up their hips and eased himself in, the tentacles clasped around his waist, holding him in place. They left enough latitude for short, deep thrusts, but no more. He and Leif sank back onto the sheets, and as soon as Thorn was on all fours he tried to draw his cock out farther -- but with the tentacles harnessing them together, the motion just lifted Leif's pelvis right off the bed after Thorn's.

With a shuddering gasp of wordless arousal, Thorn set to earnestly pounding Leif into the mattress.

It was good, yes. It was sloppy and wet and breathless, and Leif's hands were in his hair again, massaging his scalp and tugging just enough to be electric.

\-- but. But there wasn't enough pressure. Not enough _friction_. The alien's body was _too_ yielding -- a human would need a dick the size of a soup can to fuck him properly.

Thorn adjusted the angle as much as he could, so he was deliberately rubbing against the roof of Leif's passage. That helped, all right -- but it wasn't going to get him all the way, he was sure of it.

And judging by the Leif's blush had faded, by the way his antennae had relaxed from taut coils into loose arcs, he wasn't feeling this so much either.

Thorn dialed back on the thrusting, settling into a slow lazy grind, and ran a thumb over Leif's lips. "Can you get a tentacle in there with me?" he asked under his breath.

Leif's hands went from his hair to caressing the back of his neck, then down to the planes of his shoulder blades, moving in rhythm as his body rocked. "They don't bend _that_ much."

"Ah."

The face-to-face was nice, Thorn thought. Whatever happened with his dick before this was over, he couldn't beat the heady adoration in Leif's eyes as they gazed into his. "Don't humans make, um . . . assistive devices . . . for couples whose appendages don't match?"

"Oh, sure. Plenty," muttered Thorn. "And none of them here. And it's not the kind of thing they expect you to requisition to a secure holding room."

He could only imagine the conversation if he tried. _Hello, SysOps, I'd like permission to upload a new pattern to the replicator software. Well, uh, in technical terms, I guess you'd have to call it a tentacle dildo. No? You're sure? Okay, well, what do you have in the database in terms of human sex toys? Uh-huh. And what's the biggest size? All right, print up one of those. Better yet, make it two._

"I liked what you were doing before with your hand," said Leif hopefully.

"Yeah?" That was promising. Thorn liked what he could do with his hand too.

Trying to work a new limb between a couple of the tentacles was no small feat. They had their quarry, and weren't going to give it up. He ended up switching to his non-dominant arm, because ever since the phaser injury his left arm didn't "bend _that_ much" either. 

"These things sure are eager," he grunted, finally contorting enough to get his wrist lined up with his erection. "You ever get awkward moments when they, ah . . . grab on to . . . something you don't want them grabbing?"

"Anything you've heard that's really bad is an urban legend." Leif talked fast, breath hitching as Thorn slid several fingers into him. "Nobody _really_ shows up at the emergency room after they tried to masturbate with a power coupling and got it clutched inside them. Always a friend of a friend. Ohhh, that's nice."

Thorn's hand was wrapped around his dick again, but this time all sheathed in the sleek wet heat of Leif's body. He was jerking off inside Leif. He was using Leif's writhing form as a greedy-tentacled cocksleeve. Oh, fuck.

Leif's eyes fell closed, and he slid a couple of fingers into his mouth, sucking on them slowly. Thorn rested his head on Leif's chest, and felt rather than heard the vibration of Leif's low moans.

"Yeah, that's it," he whispered, picking back up with the rhythm of thrusting into his fist, breath puffing against Leif's skin. "Take it, sweetheart."

He didn't last long after that, not when Leif's body was being so delectably _needy_ , so clearly aching to be used. The sparks flared under his skin and the throbbing heat built at the base of his cock, then it was pulsing out of him -- and he'd had no idea Leif was sensitive enough to _squeal_ when Thorn pumped come into him, oh no, but the shocked delight of the noise was so hot it made Thorn's vision go blurry.

He was still shivering with aftershocks when it occurred to him that he should try to un-contort, before the orgasm faded enough that his muscles started to notice they should be cramping.

The clasp of the tentacles was like iron now. He could get his hand out from around his dick -- a small mercy, now that it was softening and sensitive and any agitation was almost unbearably erotic -- but the best he could do for the rest of his posture was flop over. Again Leif moved with him, rolling so they could both lie on their sides with their hips in parallel, and curled around to nuzzle the crown of his head.

"That, uh. That was me," said Thorn softly, when he felt up to talking again. "Can I do something else for you, or . . . "

"I am ruined for ovipositors _forever_ ," said Leif fervently. "That _fast-action pumping_ , oh my brightest stars."

Well. Apparently Thorn wasn't the only one here who had it bad for exotic alien anatomy.

He rode the wave of unexpected gratification for another minute or two, then murmured, "Not that I'm complaining, because believe me, this is by far the most pleasant way I've ever had an alien lock me in place . . . but how much longer are you going to hang on?"

Leif shrugged. "Five minutes? Maybe ten? In theory it's based on how much my body interprets you as a desirable source of genetic material . . . but if that was reliable, nobody would clutch aliens at all."

"Or power couplings," said Thorn cheekily.

The sweetness of Leif's giggle was something he wished he could bottle and keep around forever.

 

\- * - * - * -

 

"Where do you live, anyway? Maybe I could move in near you."

"I'm stationed on the _Sapphire_ ," said Thorn. He'd come unlocked a while ago, but they were still talking, and still cuddling in the bargain. "If you want, I can find out if there are any open positions."

In his arms, Leif tensed. "I couldn't --"

"It's an exploration vessel!" added Thorn quickly. "I'm not asking you to enlist, even if the Federation would let you, which . . . doesn't seem likely. It's a huge ship. Whole families live there. It has plenty of options for civilian jobs."

Leif's antennae perked up a bit. "Does it have . . . gardens?"

"Huge arboretum, connected to the xenobio research department. You hardly miss being planetside at all."

"Oh, I never really lived planetside, so I wouldn't know," said Leif. "The reason I ask is -- it's not just interrogation on my resume. It's a lot of plant care. Mostly plant care, even. So the first thing you should do is ask if they need any help in the gardens."


End file.
